Chapter 12: On Time
The ride on the Canterlot express had been more grating than usual for the Alicorn, and more than once she'd flirted with the idea of using her privilege to get a better seat. Or rather, a quiet seat. Foals were cranky and vocal, parents tried to sooth them and grew ever more frustrated, and working mares shuffled back and forth pretending to read newspapers or straining for any way to ignore the scenes around them.
By the time Twilight had stepped off the platform into Canterlot's Hearthrow station, she had endured more jostling and uncomfortable noise than she would wish on anypony else. Ever.
Thanks to the ominous four word message summoning her to the capital, she'd only managed to lightly skim through a novel rather than accomplishing anything productive. Turns out even her method of escapism hadn't helped after she'd read the same passage three times in a row, and she retained about as much as a rusty sieve.
"Princess Spackle, ma'am."
An unfamiliar mare's voice jolts Twilight from her mental diatribe. The dialect twanged Sparkle into Spackle, a Trottingham trait as sure as unfortunately named foods. Even as she analyzes the tone, Twilight step falters and she quickly moves to adopt a straight and proper posture.
A Unicorn guardsmare quickly hops up the steps to the marbled platform just as the train disgorged its passengers. Trotting behind her is a detail of six other ponies, four mares and two stallions.
'Odd.'
Two of the mares came clad in the lacquered indigo plate of the Royal Night Guard. Sure, It was strange to see them in daylight, but not unprecedented. Admittedly, the sight of them made her heart beat with an arrhythmic patter that she was sure couldn't be healthy.
Whether that skip was her anxiety acting up, or the four cups of coffee on the way to the station was another matter.
As her mind hypothesized and conjectured the tableau of events that might necessitate both Day and Night guard detail, the Unicorn mare parades up in front of her before bringing herself to attention. With a quick stop, little stamp, and stiff salute she addresses the somewhat awkward Alicorn princess.
"Sergeant Torchstar, at'chor service, ma'am. We're 'ere to escort you directly to the castle. We'll get'chor baggage presently. Corporal Cart Wright, on point. Guardsmare Vert Gallant!"
'Brisk, brusque, and thoroughly presumptuous. This is why I don't have guards.'
"Thank you," Twilight tries to politely interject, "but I'm g-"
"Yes, sergeant." The mare's tone rings professional and sharp.
Twilight's gaze wanders between the slightly taller than normal Unicorn sergeant and the second Solar Guardsmare. The whole detail had lined up in a neat little knot, staring just slightly above her head like she'd gotten a cherry stuck to her horn and they were just being too polite to mention it.
It had happened before.
"Get the Princess's bags and fall in line!"
Stepping forward, this 'Guardsmare Gallant' halts just a hoofs length from Twilight. Even for an Earth mare she was tall, muscled more like of the Expeditionary soldiers and frontier guards than parade or garrison ponies, and possessing the kind of hard slate grey stare that scared foals. It was a little intimidating to be close enough to see where the lines of armour enchantment bleached her coat white, but couldn't disguise a craggy pink scar that parted the fur on her muzzle.
Unfortunately for both mares, Twilight had packed light, and with some hesitance, lifts her pannier over to the earth mare. Three books, a sandwich, quill, ink, parchment, and a whole lot of empty space fill the bags.
"Um... thanks."
Twilight flashes the guardsmare a weak but sincere smile before the soldier returns to the formation.
"Sergeant Torchstar, can you tell me what exactly is going on?"
The Unicorn purses her lips into what might be misconstrued as a pout. "Fraid not, ma'am. Very hush-hush, Princess Celestia's orders. Right, column, about face!"
'Not usually something shouted out loud.'
The column turns towards the exit back to the main station. And sure enough, other passengers were milling about, looking at the larger and more peculiar than normal detail of guards. Twilight slips into their midst in what had become a practiced but still unfamiliar routine.
She eyes each guardspony, trying to catch a familiar face. Thanks to Shining Armor's previous work as the captain of the guard, and her own time passing through more sensitive wings of the Canterlot palace, she'd grown at least familiar with many guardsponies. But she didn't recognize anypony at all.
"Whenever you're ready, ma'am."
Brought back to attention, Twilight nods and follows in lockstep.
Down the marble steps, into the main station, past the throngs of morning commuters and tourists, the bustling metropolitan station still held that grandeur of Canterlotian panache. But something was different.
The great clock still looked out over the arrival and departure lounge with its massive bronze etchings and faded facade hanging like an indoor star. The great arching vaults and glass panes let in what light they could, but a faint drizzle marks the mountain city's late morning. Dribbling water forms into rivulets and streams, flowing through the station's estuary flutes and subtle drains. Those became elegant waterfalls outside of some of the tall arched windows and their stained glass panes. Water and glass alike twinkle in the rythmic flicker of arcane lit lanterns while the great station, but most of the daytime ambiance still came from another source. Somewhat appropriately for the station's wagonwheel-like layout, an enormous multi-tiered mandala chandelier at its center casts pale amber light that glints from focal decor accents and brass plate. Even for a workday the station was packed with hundreds of ponies, and even some non ponies busied themselves as they all seek out their connections and transfers through Central Equestria's primary transit hub.
While the soft and comfortable orange ambiance almost always put travelers at ease, there was none of the quiet rumble of the citizen masses here. The helpful haze of folksy comfort and Canterlotian grandeur didn't calm the antsy crowds, it was both a roiling sea of pastel frustration and more than a bit of confusion.
The guard detail has to gently nudge aside one or two ponies that backstepped into the formation. The thin line around Twilight never broke, but here and there the spearhead softened as ponies were made to gingerly move aside for the group. The cry of unhappy foals and raised tones of one or two arguments bubbled up among the general clamour. A large mass milled around the departures and arrivals signs held high overhead, ticketmasters below dealing with what looked like a larger than average crowd.
"Has this been going on long?" Twilight asked the lead Unicorn.
Torchstar's neck pulls back, and though Twilight couldn't catch much more than a view of her armoured flank and short bobbing tail, the Alicorn bet that she was making that same pouting face.
"Hard to say, ma'am. Foals can be whinging things after all. But no, not in general."
Her quick halt said that was probably the end to that line of questioning. And as more ponies trotted in from the four massive street-side gates, their pathway only got more clogged by soggy unhappy souls.
The crackle of the loudspeakers heralding the imminent departure of one line to Dodge Junction provided just enough of a lull for them to slip out through one of the main gates and into the dreary Canterlotian morning.
Hooves kick up spattering droplets of water as the rain gathers in pools on the steps of the grand train station. Ponies made their way up and down those weather worn stairs in a constant stream, heads bowed to the soft winds that brought with it hazy mists from the streets. But that same fresh air whisked by tender breezes energized Twilight better than coffee.
Taking a whiff, she lets the rain pour down her mane, the waft of moisture on stone so different than the familiar scent of Ponyville after a storm. Or, for that matter, Rainbow after a shower.
Dingy grey haze cloak the distant turreted towers of the Hightown district while the two and three story abodes of Rosedale appeared little better. The swirling patterns of pastel radiance painted on the strips of shops and cafès were faded into near-monochromatic hues by the sombre morning rain.
"Sorry we don't have quicker transport, ma'am."
Torchstar's apology came nearly out of nowhere when they'd set hoof on the bottom step.
Twilight suddenly realized that she'd momentarily stopped in the lee of one of three grand Equestrian tribal statues dominating the bottom of the broad stairway. They'd been meant to represent the unity of the capital city, despite its very notable Unicorn population.
Perhaps that little hesitation and tilt of the head had been thought of as waiting for a carriage? Instead of whatever reproach could have been leveled at them, Twilight lifts her muzzle up and breathes in the fresh air more obviously.
"Mmm, it's okay. If it was that pressing, Celestia would have made sure to arrange it."
It would make sense, but it was add odds with the insistent tone of the letter. Had things been resolved? Had they deteriorated? She didn't expect a guard squad to be waiting for her at the station. And she certainly didn't expect one made up of both day and night guards.
The group of seven trots up the winding cobblestone streets towards the distant peaks of the rain shrouded palatial district.
Canterlot Castle, the royal residence, centre for many of the most high cultured events in Equestria's social season. Canterlot Castle.
The normally wide open doors and airy halls were all sealed by thick decorative doors, giving it a labyrinthine air. The familiar landmarks and sights were nowhere to be seen, obscured and contained into vaguely recognizable blocks. Even the towering windows were shuttered to hold back the outside world. Not since the days immediately after Chrysalis's invasion had that happened.
The marks of militarism sloughed off every surface, and Twilight was forced to admit, she hadn't seen how she'd missed it before. Perhaps that was one of the great works of the princesses, it was miraculous that the Canterlot palace could be so welcoming to guests and yet remain a fortress.
The roving patrols of both Solar and Lunar guard seemed to note their presence, but none broke off to greet her. She was certain she saw her brother's friend Broadsword and Spearhead, but passed them by while hastening her trot.
'Didn't they both retire last year? Broadsword got married to Old Battleaxe. Hmm, and Spearhead was featuring at the performing arts gallery in Fillydelphia a month ago.'
The little Fillydelphia arts exhibit had been her distraction when pulled along by Starlight to one of Trixie's stage shows. So, what were they doing back in the guard?
Had the reserves been activated? The thought, like a myriad of others before it, disappeared among the clatter of plate mail and metal shoes on marble floors.
Twilight wasn't sure where Celestia was, and more than that, no one would tell her. Everything was done professionally. While Twilight herself felt she should have been delighted that the proper procedure was being followed to the letter, she had to restrain from simply teleporting to the throne room.
The sound of rain didn't penetrate this far in, there was only the sound of roving guards and her own hooves. But in that gulf between hoofbeats and clanking metal, was silence. A deep, awkward, impenetrable nothingness. And as she passed by another long colonnaded hall, she recognized why: day court wasn't in session.
Day court wasn't just suspended without good reason or plenty of notice. It was serious. The pit in her stomach only grew as empty lower halls give way to equally empty upper chambers. The meeting rooms and conference centres, practice rooms, and patron studios were all empty save for the ever present guard.
Once, she was even ushered up a rarely used scullery stairwell and to the royal residence towers. But it wasn't Celestia's tower, she knew the bright tapestry room and solarium annex better than almost anyone, except perhaps Raven Inkwell. Part of her mind chimed in 'Sunset Shimmer' though that was, admittedly, an assumption. Neither was it the student annex that she called home for almost a decade.
No, instead there was an empty hall with brass braziers leading to a lavender hued stairwell stretching off in either direction. The marble floor was a softer shade of grey, and everything felt infused with the floral scent of lavender.
'Luna's Tower'.
It was directly next to the observatory. The pieces fit. Her hooves wanted to take her in this general direction but avoid this particular path. After all, the ancient bastion had been nothing more than a repository for uncurated curios when she had taken up residence here.
As they crossed the smoothed and polished floor, she felt the slight tacky sensation on her frogs. They were planning to redo this wing, and a quick glance confirms everything: the outline of Luna's cutie mark lays etched in white wax upon the tiles, almost certainly awaiting renovation.
"Oh Stars." she quietly whispers aloud with a breathless rattle of unrestrained anxiety.
No reply from Torchstar, but she caught a movement in her peripherals. It was almost certainly a nod from the Royal Night Guardsmare to her left. She's led up the steps and through a climbing spiral of dusk hued halls A pair of pony voices prick her ears, carrying through the stillness of the empty expanse.
"-going to be alright?"
a soft feminine voice carries a tone of worry.
"We don't know. So far, we don't have a prognosis."
A single word could strike with the force of a tidal wave. The Alicorn stops cold, hoof hanging in mid-step, shaking. The words echo in her mind.
Prognosis.
A rasping wet wheeze reaches Twilight's ears, and while her neck stiffens and ears pivot and twitch to find the source, it didn't come from the guards. It came from her. Its her own hyperventilating gasps that close in around her, setting her on edge as icy tines edging up her hooves. The sound reaches Twilight's ears but as they twitch and flop against her skull, it's all so detached.
Every attempt to speak results in a thick sandy lump in her throat, a raspy squeak, or an indistinct whine. After a moment, she bolts forward, shouldering the Night Guardsmare aside.
The edges of her vision pulse black, her ears ring with the thunderous pounding of blood, and her stomach churns.
'Prognosis.'
Fear.
It could only be fear. Not fear for herself, not the uncomfortable adrenal push when in danger, but the sickly sense of dread that something had just changed. Something would never be the same.
"Have any results come-"
Hooves on marble stop the conversation dead as Twilight rounds the bend. She looks on at the third story landing beneath the new portrait of the princess of the night.
A yellow and orange stallion with a white medical smock and surgeons bag conversed in somewhat hushed tones with a periwinkle mare dressed much the same. Both were doctors, part of Twilight's mind knew them, she had spoken to them. She fumbled for names but she only could remember 'Barn'-something. She careens forward, hooves skittering over the newly polished stone, but caught enough resistance in the clopping of hooves to stop a pace from the pair, who had shied back instructively from the collision.
"Oh, m-miss Sparkle. I, uh, didn't see you there."
The stallion babbles, eyes widening before darting to the floor, biting his lip and shying away. His companion took a step forward and turned, managing a little bow.
"Miss-"
"Doctor Barnyard? What's happened?"
The research physician's name flowed from her lips before her mind consciously brought it to the forefront.
Looking at her colleague, the mare glances back up with a line of frustration on her brow.
The pull of a scowl only grew deeper on the Alicorn's face as the mare glanced past her at the rapidly approaching entourage.
"By order of Princess Celestia, myself and doctor Meadowsweet are forbidden to speak of our patients condition to anypony. She was very, very insistent, miss Sparkle. I am sorry."
The Alicorn pauses, hesitating on three hooves as if to reach out and shake some sense into her. But her mind cobbles something together.
'By Celestia's order?'
Luna's wing of the castle, Celestia's order, it was almost certainly nothing to do with the solar diarch. Doctor Barnyard may have been a one cart town doctor for some time, but as a research scientist at Canterlot University and lecturer at the School for Gifted Unicorns, Twilight had corresponded with her before. She knew her, if only as an acquaintance.
"Oh. Oh ponyfeathers, no." Twilight's gaze shoots up the stairwell as Torchlight's voice reaches her ears.
"Wait ma'am, we're s'possed to escort you!"
She wasn't listening. Twilight's hooves leave little divots and bunches in the carpet as she darts up the stairs. Protocol be damned, the air itself had changed worryingly the moment she reached the top of the steps. It was charged and tasted of copper and burnt ozone, like magical backwash. Something was wrong. More over, a small shiver jitters down her spine unbidden.
The Alicorn only had to ascend that last spiraling stairwell before even her pounding eardrums could make out the sound of her mentor's voice. Admittedly, it took her a heartbeat more to recognize it.
"I know that my duties are important, Kibitz. I raised the sun, I named an interim executive council, I did everything I was required to do... no I will NOT keep my voice down!" The sudden explosive tone shakes the halls, cracking plaster and unsettling a layer of dust that rains from the vaulted ceilings.
Twilight's skittering stop in the middle of the hall was reflexive.
The warble of Celestia's voice, the sharpness and quavering frustration rarely ever leached out of her studied mien. The 'princess mask' was a hoofstep from sacred, the mark of a ruler, and Twilight found herself unexpectedly frozen in a hall thirty steps from Luna's chambers listening to it fall away in a series of sharp breaths and hitched gasps.
"Please, your majesty." An elderly stllion's raspy voice barely bubbles up from behind a closed door, "There's nothing that can be done, and it's likely better if the public didn't know for the time being. Or, at least, until we can make a more informed public statement. I'm sure the common pony would panic, they are, after all, just ponies. My lady, I suggest you clean up, make yourself presentable, and continue on with the day's rather busy schedule. It may do undue duress to this week's meetings."
"A-and why would I give a flying feather about this week's meetings? If you haven't noticed, and I sincerely hope you haven't rather than being indifferent, we still have no idea what happened."
At last, the Alicorn princess unintentionally eavesdropping in the hallway eases her way forward. It took that long for her muscles start to respond. Her escorts, however, didn't so much as poke a muzzle up the stairwell.
She weakly plods forward, unabashedly treading across the carpet and keeping her head down like a scolded filly.
"Princess Celestia?"
Her voice barely carries to the front of her muzzle, let along to her friend and mentor.
"Please understand, your highness, it is for the best. We should stay calm and treat this like any other event-"
"No. You might be able to stay calm, but you weren't the one who saw her lying on the fl-" a rough hiccup and throaty wheeze bleeds from her throat, "In, in a pool..."
Wet uncontrolled sniffles wash away whatever else she might have tried to say.
Even with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Twilight found herself drawn forward. Each tentative step brings her closer to the enormous doorway flanked in Equestria's heraldic tapestries.
The carpet scratched her frogs, each step was too loud, each breath too irregular. An acidic bite wets the back of her mouth as Twilight, in a fugue of her own, slips into the antechamber of Luna's quarters.
She had been here quite infrequently, and always through teleportation, but the massive onyx doors to the main chamber were never shut. They had always been open, creating an free flowing line through the main chamber to the tower's halls. Now, it was walled off and turned into a sealed cloister.
It made the chamber little more than a glorified mud room that just so happened to display royal finery. Rich oil paintings of conquests long past hang on the walls, a crystal display holds the Night regent's set of lacquered midnight armour, and none of that mattered in the least.
Kibitz stands silently in one corner. The majordomo fumbles with the breast pocket of his red waistcoat, the arcane grasp rifling overlooked by something far more distressing.
Celestia. Her pure ivory coat was ruffled and matted, a few spots of faded pink blot her chest tuft, and her peytral and hoofshoes were missing. But it wasn't what regalia she lacked that hurt, or the mussed up fur and mane, it was something else.
Twilight caught the glitter of tears coursing down from red rimmed eyes, carving rivulets into Celestia's perfect alabaster cheeks. The thick mucous clotted snorts and dribbling glint of moisture that ran from her nose obliterated the notion of practiced and groomed perfection. She wasn't the perfect princess Twilight had grown to admire, she was just a pony. A pony in pain.
It all should have been disgusting, embarrassing, and the sheer look of discomfort radiating from the prim and proper stallion in front of her echo what Twilight's brain said she should have felt if it were anypony else. But even as Kibitz dug in his breast pocket for something, evidently a distraction, Twilight found she didn't need to will herself forward anymore.
Seeing Celestia, hearing her, Twilight leans forward as if falling towards the elder Alicorn. In the span of a second, she presses her chest into that of her mentor's. The pink stained chest fur stuck to hers as a rapid beat thundered beneath it. Her neck slid over Celestia's, easing the heaving spasms that trembled through the diarch, chin down to her back. And even as she stretched a foreleg over Celestia's withers to draw them closer, she spread her lavender wings over the larger mare and covered her as if offering protection from a storm.
The comfort was received eagerly by the pony. The dam broke as it dissolved into a series of racking sobs. At that moment, she wasn't the sovereign matriarch of a nation, she was just Celestia. She would say what she needed in time. She missed the quiet hoofsteps that made their way out from the antechamber, closing the door to leave the pair alone.
